Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

I f you’d opened a dictionary to look up the word ‘astonished’, you might well have found a photograph of Hugo’s team of Primes when he told them he would help Gordon Mackenzie. Even Becky, who’d been in the room when I’d pulled out Athair’s letter, was shocked. ‘You’re going to help that sorcerer search for Lady Rose?’ she asked, blinking rapidly.

‘No.’ Hugo linked his hands behind his head and leaned back, putting on a very good display of a man who was utterly relaxed and at peace with his decision. ‘I will help him search for a small magical item that may or may not help his investigation into Lady Rose’s disappearance. There’s a distinct difference.’

‘You could have fooled me,’ Rizwan muttered. His eyes flicked to me and away again. It was obvious they all realised who was at the bottom of Hugo’s decision, though I couldn’t tell yet whether anyone was dismayed by it.

Miriam smacked her lips together in approval. ‘This is good, Hugs. Very good. It’s about time all those old ghosts were laid to rest. ’

Hester, who’d been examining the tray of biscuits laid out to fuel the morning’s activities, jerked up. ‘Ghosts?’

‘Metaphorical ones,’ Otis said.

Hester narrowed her eyes. ‘They’d better be.’ She stared around the room as if checking for any spectres who had suddenly decided to appear.

‘Nobody is under any pressure to get involved,’ Hugo said. ‘If you want to sit this hunt out, I won’t think any the worse of you.’

‘Are you kidding?’ Slim said. ‘I’ve been itching to do some proper work for ages.’ His gaze flashed to me and I spotted a trace of guilt in his expression. ‘Uh, I mean— No offence, Daisy. I’m enjoying helping with your training, but treasure hunting is what we’re all here for.’

I grinned. ‘It’s okay, Slim. I’m excited too.’ I meant it. It wasn’t simply that we’d be part of the investigation into Lady Rose, or that Athair was somehow involved, it was that treasure hunting was the most thrilling thing I could think of to do with my time.

Mark, a tall elf who was part of the research team, cleared his throat. ‘Then let’s get to it.’ He could barely contain his smile. ‘What do we know about this golden skull?’

I pushed a folder towards him. ‘Gordon sent through all the information he has about its whereabouts. It’s a magical object, although he’s unwilling to reveal exactly what magic it contains.’

Becky stiffened. ‘What if it’s dangerous? We all know there’s plenty of hidden treasure out there that shouldn’t be found.’

‘I don’t think it’ll be too long before we work out what the skull can do,’ Hugo said. ‘And let’s not forget that Gordon is a cautious man. Despite his fervour, he wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.’

I raised an eyebrow; for someone who professed to hate Gordon Mackenzie’s actions, Hugo certainly had the measure of the man.

‘That doesn’t mean that we won’t proceed with caution,’ he continued. ‘It won’t be the first time we’ve searched for something with unknown properties.’

Rizwan nodded. ‘Remember the Fabergé egg we found a few years ago?’

I spotted several amused expressions around the table.

‘How could we forget?’ Mark asked.

Miriam turned to me. ‘Legend had it that Rasputin had bound magical healing powers into the egg. We were hired by a company based in Moscow to find it.’

‘And?’ I asked, fascinated.

‘It had magical powers, alright.’ Slim snorted. ‘But not healing powers. Rasputin had more of a sense of humour than history gives him credit for.’

Miriam grinned. ‘The egg attracted chickens. Lots and lots and lots of chickens.’

‘We were inundated,’ Becky said. ‘There were thousands of them, flocking in from every direction.’

‘Sometimes I still have nightmares about the smell,’ Rizwan told me.

‘Bird poo is pungent.’ Hugo smiled slightly. ‘But I think we can rest assured that this skull will not be a magical chicken magnet.’

‘I have a great photo of Hugs with two fat hens perched on his head,’ Becky said.

He looked exasperated but Rizwan was more amused than ever. ‘It certainly made an interesting fashion statement.’

I sat up straighter. ‘I’d like to see that photo.’

‘Perhaps,’ Hugo said drily, ‘we should focus on the hunt?’

Miriam nodded. ‘You’re right, dear. A bird in the hand is better than two on your head. ’

There was a ripple of laughter and I felt myself relax. The mood was good humoured, none of the Primes were upset that we were helping Gordon, and even Hugo seemed at ease with the idea. That was progress indeed.

Mark flipped open the folder and scanned the contents. I’d already read through them and I knew they didn’t hold much information. Most of it made little sense to me, but I was confident that the Primes’ combined knowledge and experience would shed light on where we should start to hunt for the skull.

‘Hmm.’ His fingers raked across the stubble on his chin, then he stood up, walked to the whiteboard and wrote down the key points. ‘According to this, the skull is made of gold, is about three-inches high, and was last seen sometime in the seventeenth century when it was uncovered together with a hoard of Roman coins in Lincolnshire.’

‘Who uncovered it?’ Miriam asked.

‘A local farmer. There’s no reference to what happened to the skull after that, but the coins and the chest that contained them are on display in Doncaster Museum.’

‘Do we have any contacts there?’ Slim asked.

Hugo shook his head. ‘No.’ There was a familiar gleam in his eyes; regardless of the motives behind this treasure hunt, the thrill of the chase was affecting him. ‘But we have a place to start.’ He looked at me and smiled. ‘Let’s saddle up.’

Given the scanty information that Gordon had provided, half the team remained behind to see what else they could discover while the rest of us packed overnight bags and set off in convoy for the museum in Doncaster.

Hugo, Hester, Otis and I took the first car; Miriam, Slim and Becky took the second. We drove fast, keen to reach our destination before it closed for the day. Fortunately the roads were clear, so we pulled into the car park with twenty minutes to spare.

We’d informed Agatha Smiggleswith, the museum director, of our impending arrival and she was there to meet us at the entrance. To my surprise, she was a bogle. I had to bite my tongue to resist the urge to ask her if she knew my drug dealer, Arbuthnot. The bogle community was a small one, and not many of them chose to abandon a rural life for one amongst humans, elves and other such beings, so it was possible that she’d heard of him – though I doubted that mentioning him would be wise. Her job title suggested that she wasn’t like other bogles; in this instance, silence would be golden.

‘Hugo Pemberville.’ She smiled in a business-like fashion and extended her hand. ‘It truly is an honour to have you visit our small establishment.’

‘Thank you for being here to greet us,’ he responded in kind. ‘I hope that our visit won’t cause too much disturbance.’

‘Not at all! We’re thrilled to have you.’ From her expression, she meant every word. Hugo was something of a cause célèbre both within and outside the archaeology and treasure-hunting world. The fact that so many people admired him would probably boost the museum’s visitor numbers; if the wonderful Hugo Pemberville thought Doncaster Museum was worth a visit, many others would follow suit.

No doubt, Ms Smiggleswith would make time to take several photos of Hugo to display around the museum. That’s what I’d have done if I’d been in her shoes.

‘We have many Roman artefacts,’ she said. ‘There are several Roman forts in the area. We’re particularly proud of the Danum shield, which was recovered in 1971 and has been dated to the late first century AD. But I believe it’s the small cache of coins found near Caistor that has piqued your interest? ’

‘You believe correctly.’

‘I’m afraid they’re not particularly unusual or valuable. It’s quite common to find hoards such as this one.’ She eyed him. ‘But you’ll know that already.’

‘To be honest,’ Hugo said, ‘every discovery and every hoard is amazing to me.’

Her eyes twinkled. ‘In that case, I’ll take you right to it. Follow me.’

We trailed after her. I let the others take the lead so I had a moment to fumble in my pocket for a surreptitious dose of spider’s silk. My mouth was as dry as sandpaper and I could already feel the familiar heart palpitations; I had to keep my body under control and feed the beast inside.

I swallowed the pill dry and shuddered before wiping the sweat from my brow and blinking rapidly to try and clear my blurred vision. Bright colours flared across my eyes. I gulped until my body righted itself and I could look around the museum like a normal visitor.

I spotted a large display board with pictures of Roman artefacts drawn by local children, a plea for people who could tell interesting stories to join the museum team, and an advertisement for a presentation by a local historian. There was an impressive number of intriguing exhibits but I resisted the temptation to browse and caught up with the others before they reached the glass cabinet we wanted.

Ms Smiggleswith’s attention remained wholly on Hugo, which suited me because it meant I could examine the coins and their original chest without interruption. Smooth-talking suited Hugo but it wasn’t my forte. Miriam, Becky, Slim and Hester also paid little attention to what the museum director was saying. Otis, however, hovered by Hugo’s shoulder and appeared to be listening intently to every word .

I leaned over the glass cabinet and peered at the coins. I could see why Ms Smiggleswith wasn’t particularly excited by them; there were thirteen in total, and they’d all been damaged by the elements, so it was difficult to decipher their marks or their original values. In comparison to other hoards this was small and unremarkable; even so, I felt a delicious thrill when I looked at it. Historical artefacts had that effect on me. There again, so did Hugo.

I switched my attention from the coins to the small wooden chest they’d been found in. It was also in a bad condition, although I could see the ancient, rusted hinges and several marks etched into it.

Becky crouched next to me. ‘That looks like a rune,’ she whispered. She pointed. ‘See?’ I followed her finger and squinted. She was right, it did look like a rune.

Ms Smiggleswith was in the middle of a long explanation about Roman roads. As soon as she paused for breath, I jumped in. ‘This rune on the side of the chest. Do you know what it means?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded enthusiastically. ‘We had it translated by a local sorcerer. It’s a plea for forgiveness.’

We were all interested now and turned to her eagerly. Slim started bouncing up and down on his toes. If the museum director was taken aback by our sudden attentiveness, she didn’t show it.

Agatha Smiggleswith struck me as someone who took life and its foibles in her stride. She hadn’t commented on the brownies, which was unusual given their rarity, and despite her exuberant welcome she didn’t appear overawed by Hugo. Her interest in him seemed to be purely because of her desire to publicise the museum. I liked a person who had priorities that couldn’t be swayed; it made them easier to understand – and easier to deal with .

Hugo looked puzzled. ‘Romans didn’t use sorcerers,’ he said. ‘There’s no evidence that they ever made use of runes.’

Smiggleswith was already nodding. ‘For a long time it was believed that they eschewed magic in all its forms but we’ve discovered that’s not true. Although the Roman authorities tried to forbid magical practices, there were witches in abundance. Roman witches weren’t like the ones we are used to today, but many of their practices were similar. Their use of herbs was more limited so instead they bound spells into gemstones, creating amulets for protection and tablets for curses. Most magical Roman artefacts that we find nowadays are of precious metals and stones.’

She gestured at the necklace I was wearing, a Christmas gift from my parents – my real parents, the ones who had adopted me and put in the hard graft to bring me up. ‘Rather like that pendant you’re wearing.’

My curiosity increased, even though my necklace was modern and possessed no magical properties. Perhaps the little golden skull we were searching for was Roman in origin? Not for the first time, I wondered what on earth it could do and why Gordon Mackenzie thought it would be so useful.

Smiggleswith continued. ‘Both the wooden chest and the rune are more modern than the coins. They date from the sixteenth century.’

‘Very modern, then,’ Hester muttered.

The museum director smiled. ‘There are many interpretations of the word “history”. Yesterday is history, two thousand years ago is history. It’s all relative.’

Before we got involved in a lengthy philosophical discussion, Miriam brought the conversation back to what we needed. ‘So the chest was created at a later date to hold the coins?’

‘Yes. It’s an interesting story. The coins were discovered near Caistor, about forty miles from here, which has strong Roman connections. We don’t know who buried them originally, but they were found on a small hill in the seventeenth century by the farmer who owned the land. He dug them up from beneath a large rock known as the Fonaby Sack Stone.

‘Legend has it that the stone was once a sack of corn that was transformed in the seventh century by a missionary who asked a local farmer to spare some grain. When the farmer refused, the missionary took umbrage and turned the sack into rock.’

She beamed beatifically. ‘Of course, we don’t know if the story is true – and we certainly no longer possess the sort of alchemical magic that can transform materials in that way.’

Slim was still examining the coins. ‘A Roman buried them two thousand years ago, and fourteen hundred years ago a stone appeared in the same spot? Then four hundred years ago, somebody dug the coins up. Where does the forgiveness rune come in?’

‘The missionary didn’t only turn the sack of corn into stone.’ Smiggleswith lowered her voice dramatically. ‘He cursed it as well.’ Her bright smile was totally at odds with her story. ‘Or so the legend goes. When the seventeenth-century farmer dug up the coins, the curse attached itself to him. Eventually he was so beset by misfortune that he placed the coins in the chest, added the rune and re-buried them, together with some other items that had been dug up at the time.’

I did my best to keep my expression bland. One of those ‘other items’ could have been our little golden skull, but it would be wise not to let Agatha Smiggleswith know what we were searching for. We didn’t want any interference – or competition.

‘We don’t know whether his actions rid the farmer of the curse or not, but there are other instances of it affecting local folk. A local mason hammered a chunk off the stone, intending to turn it into a gift for his fiancée, then died violently soon afterwards. Another farmer in the late nineteenth century moved the stone to plough the land underneath it. In the process, he discovered the chest and the coins and promptly sold them to the highest bidder. The money didn’t do him much good – his horses all died, his crops failed and his eldest son was taken ill.’

Hester gasped loudly.

‘That farmer couldn’t retrieve the coins from the buyer, but he did return the stone to its original position – and then his son miraculously recovered.’

Hugo was already nodding. ‘The curse is on the stone, not on the coins.’

Smiggleswith looked at him approvingly. ‘Which is why the coins are here rather than buried beneath the stone. They were donated to the museum many decades ago because the family who owned them were wary of any misfortune they might bring.’ Her cheery expression didn’t alter. ‘I can assure you that we’ve never endured any hardship because of their presence.’

Slim scratched his chin. ‘And the Fonaby Sack Stone?’ he asked.

‘Is on the same land and in the same place. It has been many years since anyone has dared to disturb it.’ She arched her eyebrows. ‘If you’re planning to do so, Lord Pemberville, I’d be very wary of the consequences. Such things are best left alone.’

We exchanged glances. Otis shivered, and so did I. For once my reaction had nothing to do with spider’s silk.

‘Thank you for the warning,’ Hugo said. ‘And for your time. You’ve been very helpful.’

Smiggleswith inclined her head then raised a hand. A young man bearing a camera appeared from behind a pillar. ‘You’re very welcome. Shall we take a few photos to mark the moment?’ The rest of us dutifully stepped aside to allow her to pose with Hugo.

I looked again at the thirteen old coins, protected by the glass display case.

‘Interesting, isn’t it, that there are thirteen coins?’ Miriam said. ‘It’s an unlucky number.’

‘You believe in the curse, then?’ I asked.

‘You’ve not read through our risk assessments, have you?’

I shook my head.

‘We should remedy that.’ Slim gave me a meaningful look. ‘Top of our health-and-safety list is dealing with curses.’

Becky tilted her head towards me. ‘Welcome to yet another of the grim realities of treasure hunting.’